The Arkansaw traveler., 1887-07-30
Common Sense Cure.
BY JENNIE PORTER ARNLD.

Cousin Mary had been an invalid for several years, and all the female relatives shook their heads despond- ingly whenever this subject was men, toned.
 "There was very little hope she would ever be any better" they said dolorously. ''She had had all the doctors far and near, and none of them did her any good. Poor woman! she probably couldn't hold out much longer"
 1 had heard the same story over and over, but, having had some exper- fence in chronic disease, 1 was not dis posed to believe the case as hopeless as it was represented.
 I knew that at the first there had been a severe everlasting of strength in the care of dearly loved brother, who had died after long illness, and Mary had been very sick of fever after his death. Long months of nervous prostration followed the fever, then intervals of convalescence and relapses had succeeded each other until, at last she had become a con- firmed invalid, patient, resigned member of the "Shut-in Society,""
 As for myself, I was never a good subject for the last. had told my pastor once, when he had called upon me during A prolonged. appar- ently hopeless illness, that I did not believe in resignation to sickness and in answer to his shocked expression, added, resignation to anything that can be helped is simply laziness and instead ofjoining the Shut in Society," belong to the Get Up and Get Out Society,""
 Possibly that had something to do with the fact that recovered after the physicians had declared my case hopeless.
 With this experience fresh in my memory, decided to visit my suffer- ing relative, and sec if there was not some possibility of help for her.
 "Fm afraid you can't see Martha tonight" Aunt Mary said soon after my arrival, ''she is so nervous no one has been in the room for the last month except doctor and I. She can't iW1ti OlI Oi liS llb Ol t1tC tCskst UOlSt. her head is so bad" And poor. patient Aunt Martha heaved a deep sigh; the invalid daughter was very dear to her, and she was nearly ex- hausted by care and anxiety on her account.
 "Then do not tell her I am here," I said. 'I know just how she feels. and I am going to take the responsibility of walking in without asking con- sent"
 Aunt Martha demurred, but, as is usually the case, my strong will over came her weak one, and I opened softly the door of the sick room and entered unannounced.
 The blinds were closed, and thick curtains were over the windows. In the dim light could at first see only the outlines of white-draped bed in the centre of the room. As I drew nearer and my eyes became more &C., customed to the darkness, I saw pale, thin face upon the pillow, and pair of dark eyes, unusually large and bright, were looking at me in surprise and bewilderment.
 Il am Cousin Jennie," I said by way of introduction, as saw she did not recognize me. "I have come from New York on purpose to see you"
 She welcomed me in c voice scarcely above whisper, letting the wasted, l nerveless hand had taken fall wear fly back upon the coycriid- She l looked % frail and delicate my heart | was filled with the deepest pity for i her, while felt indignant at the ig- norance that could shnt up . sick i person in such close, dark room
 made . Iew kind inquiries regard ing her condition; it was the old story of chronic diseases-almost con- stant pain in back or sides, torturing nervous! headaches, sleeplessness and loss of appetite. |